Page 45 of Enchanted Village

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I really do need your help. Now more than ever.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said. “Whatever you need to get the pub in shape.”

“Thank you,” Margaret said, holding her hand out for Bernie to climb on. The creature did, thankfully. “And you’re still sure I can’t compensate you—”

Silas shook his head. “I accept payment in tea.”

Margaret laughed. “Fair enough.”

“Well then,” Silas said. “I’ll finish up on the roof and be down in a bit.”

Margaret’s heart thrashed in her chest. Fifteen years of loneliness and keeping a bitter guard over her heart sounded a warning.

But for the first time in a very long time, Margaret decided to trust the warmth that Silas had brought into the pub rather than the cold of her own making.

Chapter Twenty-One

Silas had never seen Margaret smile quite like that. He thought he’d seen her biggest and boldest smile before when he’d first fixed up the pub’s interior. But this one . . . this one had cracked across her entire face, had made the constellations of freckles on her cheeks and nose seem like stars sparkling in the night sky. In the low, warm light of the pub, he’d seen her as if for the first time, a witch with hair the color of a sunset and eyes so soft and golden brown he’d felt that she’d been casting a spell on him with just a glance. Smiling transformed her. Her smile made him want to do anything to chase another look like that, to make her turn that gaze, that warmth onto him.

For the next two weeks, Silas chased that smile every day. He arrived with his toolbox to mend whatever needed mending—and truly, there seemed to be an endless list. Margaret was far less hesitant now that Patrick had made himself known and set a ticking clock on when the pub needed to be open. While Silas worked, she worked on drinks, occasionally bringing them over for him to test. Liza would be there, too, helping Margaret brainstorm, idly commenting, sometimes using her spells to speed up whatever it was that Silas was working on that day.

Silas enjoyed working with his hands on the pub. It was something he and his father would do in the summers, fixing things around the house: Repairing the roof was a common task, as were sanding, painting, and refinishing. He and his father could work for hours, neither of them saying a word. The silences were never uncomfortable; they were the moments when Silas felt most at peace.

He alternated this with his work at school, and while he still felt that teaching was his calling more than anything else, nothing quite tested his resolve like the few weeks before a holiday break.

Silas had had his share of rough days as a student teacher. There was the time several of the seventh graders in his care had hacked the school computers to play porn as soon as anyone logged in so that, while he was being observed, he had an entire class open their laptops only to be bombarded by a very different kind of lesson than the one he’d planned. Then there had been the time stink bombs had been set off during one of his exams. A basic but nonetheless effective prank that meant Silas’s room smelled faintly like rotten eggs for a week.

Still, nothing could compete with the approach of a holiday break in a school full of magical children. Silas felt it in the air that week as the reality of the end of November and the beginning of December settled around the castle like a promise. Even Silas’s most well-behaved kids were struggling to stay on task. And the more challenging kids . . . Well . . . he had never promised to be a miracle worker.

Whatever Silas suggested—notes or practice equations or discussions—was taken as background noise to be ignored.

Today, he’d wrapped up his classes and reminded himself that there were only a handful of days left and then the holiday would be here. And, most importantly, he would get to see Margaret tonight. He was bringing over a gift for Bernie. It was wrapped in red paper, an early Christmas gift. He stood at the door, ready to walk inside, when he heard the sound of something behind him, a grunt or a cough. He turned around to see it was Wyatt, wiping his glasses on his robe, waving up at Silas.

Silas had ended up reading for roughly an hour with Wyatt that evening he’d found the boy frozen. Eventually, Wyatt had been ready to head back to his dorm, and he’d muttered a soft thank-you and Silas had headed off for the inn. In class, Wyatt had stayed his usual quiet self, and Silas hadn’t pushed the issue from before about who had cast the spell that froze him.

“Do you, um, need any help, Professor?” Wyatt asked, nodding at the red box and looking rather terrified at the thought that Silas might say yes.

“Oh, I’ve got it,” Silas said. “But it’s good to see you, Wyatt.”

“Um, yes,” Wyatt said, his voice pitching significantly as he spoke. “I mean, good to see you, too.”

Now he was worrying the hems of his robe. Silas gathered his tools from the roof, climbed down the ladder, and regarded Wyatt with a nod of his head. Wyatt attempted to smile back, looking like he’d swallowed sawdust.

“I wanted to see if you could help me with my homework,” he said. “The equations you gave us. I don’t think I understand them.”

Silas blinked. The boy had sought him out for tutoring? Silas wondered if this had something to do with Wyatt trying to prove himself more capable. Regardless, he was eager to help.

“Of course!” Silas said. “I can be back up at school shortly—”

“Oh, I brought the work here,” Wyatt said. He dug something out of the leather messenger bag he was carrying, then held up a roll of parchment and a battered old quill. He glanced hesitantly at the pub door behind Silas. “I was thinking maybe we could work in there?”

Silas followed his gaze to the pub door. He had a feeling Margaret would be fine with Wyatt, but he wondered if he should ask first. As he was considering it, Liza exited. Her bright eyes found Silas immediately, and she grinned, and then her grin broadened when she saw Wyatt, who turned promptly and decisively red.

“Silas!” Liza said. “Almost done up there? And who’s your friend?”

She winked, which made Wyatt tremble.

“This is one of my students,” Silas said, moving to pat Wyatt on the shoulder and then thinking better of it. “He’s asked for some help with his homework.”